The Premature Burial
by Bella.Diggory
Summary: Hermione Jean Granger is dead... isn't she? The crowd shows up to mourn her, Viktor cries over her grave. But will anyone hear her cries? One-Shot, Viktor/Hermione


**The Premature Burial**_  
(pre-ma-ture: too early / happening, arriving, existing, or preformed before the proper, usual, or intended time)_

There is nothing more likely that will gather old friends and family members to see each other after a long time since parting, that of which any other occasion, is death. Death is not temperamental, it is not always expected, and it is not able to be rescheduled. And so, unlike life, where when a person is born and you don't have to be at the initial birth to see them - where you can see them whenever it fits your own schedule and plans to your liking, as you can always see them because they will be there waiting for you. Death is incontrovertible, once they are dead, they are dead. There is no going back, there is no second chances, and, unlike life, there is never seeing the deceased ever again. For the deceased are gone, forever perishing underground and growing green and grey and decaying away into bones, and eventually, nothing. Or fly across the skies as ash, becoming one with the earth like was first intended for them to eventually do once they had been born; to live, and then die.

Why is it -you must ask yourself on one occasion or another, is it that the only true time family and loved ones will gather about to mingle and mourn and catch up, is only when a person dies? Why do they not all do this when a child is born, or when a loving couple becomes one in holy matrimony? Why is it, ask yourself, that we only come together when we are sad? People skip birthdays, weddings, births, anniversaries, parties… but deaths? Funerals? Memorials? None of them go unattended. Even if there is a face missing amongst a crowd that would have surly been there but isn't will make its appearance once everyone else has gone. Late, but never missed.

And so you can imagine, on this warm and breezy spring day, the crowd that came gathering about Willow Springs Cemetery for the funeral of Hermione Jean Granger, was quite large indeed. Magical folk and Muggles alike, all gathered together without any other care in the world. Knowing only that someone, someone loved and missed, was gone, and it was time to come together in mourning.

If only they knew how unnecessary all of this was.

For as the crowd slowly made their way to their seats and silenced themselves, they would have never guessed what was happening just six feet below…

The air was thin and scarce as Hermione flicked open her weak eyelids to find a world of darkness. And the smell, _oh_, _the smell_… dirt, wood, musk… where was she? And better yet, why was she lying on her back, hadn't she just been standing in field, with her friends Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter? Hadn't she been overfilled with the joy and the prospect of being back to her love, her only love, being back in the arms of Viktor Krum's arms again? Feelings his lips against hers again, like they had been on the night they first danced together? He was waiting for her… so what was she doing in such a dark, small and unfamiliar place as this? And finding out as she bashed her head against the underside of the lid of her coffin, she gasped with the realization of it all. But no, _no_! She was not dead, why was she here, and where was her wand? They had to find her, they had to hear her! They had made a mistake, the Killing Curse had missed her, it had shot right past her, sending her falling to the ground in fright, and not so long after blacking out from the shock of it all… "Elp!" She croaked while bashing her fists, and scraping her nails against the lid of her coffin, "'Lease! P-ease, elp! Elp!"

But no one would hear her, for she was too far away, as she was only a few feet beneath them, to be heard.

And the crowd was so little now. Few people remained, exchanging condolences and hugs and small smiles of departure. Until, there was but one left.

And he was dropped to his knees, looking down at the fresh dirt that covered her grave, which would one day be covered in green grass. He put his hands against the dirt, and said her name once to himself, and then once again, louder, before collapsing his whole figure onto the dirt. Viktor Krum cried, and he cried, and he cried.

His tears lasted hours. But the last painful cry from beneath him muttered one last longing of, 'Elp…" only moments before he had fallen to her grave.

**THE END**

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AN: **Morbid, I know... what did you think?**  
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